


The Long Road

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [79]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 07:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18191300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: Headline tomorrow morning: ‘Flames Star Bryce Marcus Murdered By Father of Hitmen Player’. Hopefully the subtitle will be ‘during Hitmen win’, at least.“Nervous?” Gregory asks him.“Yeah,” Jared admits, then tries to focus those nerves on, oh, theplayoffs.





	The Long Road

There’s a hum in Calgary when the regular season closes out. Jared doesn’t know if he’s just imagining it, projecting, because there’s a hum in him, both for the next round — Pats won Game Seven, so that’s the enemy — and for the Flames’ postseason. It probably is, but he still feels it all the same.

The Flames are facing the Golden Seals, which isn’t what anyone wanted. Well, except for Golden Seals fans, Jared supposes; they’re probably hyped. Jared has a bad feeling about it. For obvious reasons, considering the Flames’ record against them, but also just this pit in his stomach he tries to keep off his face, because that’s the last thing Bryce needs to see right now.

The Hitmen take down the Pats in five.

The Flames last a game longer, managed to squeak two wins out, but it isn’t long after the Saddledome is ringing with the Hitmen’s victory that it’s dead silent watching the Flames’ defeat.

Bryce is, understandably, in a shitty fucking mood the next few days, and Jared does his best to give him some space while like, simultaneously radiating ‘if you want to vent about it, vent away’. He’s not sure how good at that he is. It doesn’t help that the media’s pointing fingers, and inevitably some of them are pointed Bryce’s way — Bryce could have scored every single goal the Flames notched and fingers would have been pointed his way. He didn’t, though. He didn’t score much at all. His points total wasn’t bad, but in the reporter hierarchy, assists are obviously worth far less than goals. They don’t care if you do the work unless you’re the one finishing it. Jared’s kind of used to that, being more of a play-maker than a goal-scorer, but the media about the Hitmen isn’t even close to as brutal as the kind the Flames get. 

Jared makes an exception to the ‘give Bryce space’ rule when he finds him sitting miserably on the couch, scrolling through a site Jared recognises as one of the Flames fan-run ones, plucking the laptop out of his hands and sitting on his lap when Bryce tries to snatch it back. 

“Stop,” he says.

“You’re the one who just stole my laptop,” Bryce says.

“I mean it,” Jared says. “Stop reading the press about you.”

Bryce drops his forehead against Jared’s back. “One goal,” he says.

“And four assists, which, considering your team had like, all of fourteen goals in six games, is kind of significant,” Jared says. “Name anyone other than Casterley who had as many points as you.”

“Brockman,” Bryce says. “Weisse—”

“Not fucking _Golden Seals_ ,” Jared says. “You can’t win shit singlehandedly, Bryce.”

Bryce mumbles something Jared doesn’t catch, just getting the defeated tone, and he puts the laptop down on the coffee table, moves to straddle Bryce so he can look at him. Bryce looks about as defeated as he sounded.

“You were playing a team that had your number,” Jared says. “And has some of the best D in the league. And you still stretched it to six when every postseason preview was saying you guys would last five, max.”

“Guess you’re allowed to read the press, then,” Bryce says.

“Probably shouldn’t,” Jared admits. It mostly makes him fume now. 

“They’re saying they should trade me,” Bryce says.

“For fuck’s sakes,” Jared says. “You were the team’s leading scorer this season.”

“But I can’t do playoffs,” Bryce says.

“Five points in six games is not ‘can’t do playoffs’,” Jared says. “I didn’t have five points in the Pats series, no one’s freaking out about me.”

“Because you _won_ ,” Bryce says. “And you only played five.”

“Bryce,” Jared says. “You know you sound completely unreasonable right now, right?”

Bryce blows out a breath. “Yeah,” he mumbles after a second.

“Just wanted to be sure,” Jared says. “Also, fuck Flames fans.”

“You’re a Flames fan,” Bryce says.

“Fuck me,” Jared says.

Bryce laughs, and Jared realises that it’s the first time he’s heard it for days. “Is that an invitation or something?”

“Engraved and everything,” Jared says. 

“You’ve got hockey to play soon,” Bryce says, and before Jared can once again remind him that he is not actually liable to _injure Jared with his dick_ , “I don’t.”

He doesn’t even say it self-pityingly. Which is good.

“Yeah, fuck you too,” Jared says, and grins when Bryce laughs again. “You wanna?”

Bryce doesn’t answer with words, per se, but it’s a clear yes from him. 

*

It’s kind of nice, after playing a bunch of games in Saskatchewan — well, only four actually, winning quick helps that way — to get to stay in Alberta for the third round. Nicer that Medicine Hat’s only a three hour drive away. His parents have already taken game days off for Games Three and Four, told Erin she can skip school, which Jared’s sure she’s taking them up on, whether or not she actually wants to go to the games.

But first they’ve got to take things at home. Jared wants to walk into Medicine Hat with two triumphant wins in hand, take it there. It was kind of nice to win at home, a whole different feeling when you’re not breaking the collective hearts of the crowd, but at the same time — fuck winning at home, Jared wants to win _everything_ , and if that means they take it in Medicine Hat, that’s just fine by him.

Bryce goes with Chaz to Game One — a win, one Jared went pointless in, but who cares, they won. Jared appreciated it at the time, but it bites him in the ass bright and early his next game day, his mom calling as he shovels in calorie after calorie at breakfast. He’s lost like seven pounds since his last weigh-in. It’s not good, but what’s he supposed to do about it, not play with every single ounce of energy he has? He’s got the offseason to put the weight back on.

“Your grandma’s not feeling well,” his mom says. “So we have an extra ticket for tonight if Bryce wants to sit with us. He was on the Jumbotron last game, so I know he went to that one.”

He was also in a few pictures on twitter. Chaz was wearing a Matheson jersey, and Jared was kind of touched by that. Also amused, because he bet it pissed Bryce off. Like, no one’s going to blink at Chaz wearing his old liney’s jersey while going to a game played by the team he was captain of. Bryce? That’s a different story.

“This feels like a trap,” Jared says.

His mom laughs at him. “Just ask him,” she says.

“Sure,” Bryce says, when Jared asks, which is absolutely not the right answer, then, “It’s nice of your mom to invite me,” sounding so happy about it Jared can’t bring himself to tell him it’s almost definitely a trap.

“Okay, but whatever you do, do not tell my parents we’re engaged,” Jared says. “I want you to live to the wedding.”

“You have to tell them eventually,” Bryce says.

“I know,” Jared says. “Immediately after playoffs, I promise, I just really need my head one-hundred percent in this.”

“I get it,” Bryce says. “It’s probably something we should tell them together, anyway.”

“Did you not hear me saying I want you to live to the wedding?” Jared asks. “Can’t steal all your money with our pre-nup free marriage if you don’t live to say ‘I do’.”

Bryce pinches his hip.

“Shit, shouldn’t have revealed the master plan,” Jared says.

Jared has to head out well before Bryce for pregame, but not before he has to give his mom Bryce’s number so they can arrange where to meet up — he found the trap, _fuck_ — and also not before Bryce dons a generic Hitmen jersey. That’s obviously a much better choice than specifically a Matheson jersey — their agents would lose their minds if he did that — but still feels a little disappointing. He’ll be surrounded by a family wearing Matheson jerseys, though, which Jared suspects their agents would also lose their minds about if they knew, so maybe that’s enough fire played with for one day.

Except that’s kind of…not the only fire played with. It’s hard to focus when he has all these vague anxieties about Bryce accidentally slipping up and letting his parents know, or them just like, taking one look at him and going ‘that fucker’s engaged to our son, isn’t he?’. 

Headline tomorrow morning: ‘Flames Star Bryce Marcus Murdered By Father of Hitmen Player’. Hopefully the subtitle will be ‘during Hitmen win’, at least.

“Nervous?” Gregory asks him.

“Yeah,” Jared admits, then tries to focus those nerves on, oh, the _playoffs_.

They take the game, but it’s not easy, going to OT, and it’s pretty clear the Tigers aren’t going to be an pushover opponent, especially once they get to their barn. Still, he’s exhilarated after, happy to hold onto the adrenaline, because he took a hit in the second that he’s positive is going to start hurting like crazy once it wears off; the throb of his shoulder right now is already bad enough. The moment he gets home he’s starting up the Magic Bag and ice pack rotation, because it’s hard to score if your shoulder’s locked up, and Jared’s gone four games without a goal now, which is frustrating. Points in two of them, but still. He’s a first-liner, and he needs to do better, especially if he wants to _stay_ on that line and the first PP unit.

He meets up with Bryce and his family after, and they all look normal and cheerful — a win will do that — so Jared is _pretty_ sure nothing got blurted out. Still, he makes sure to confirm with Bryce when they get home.

“You’re still alive, so I’m assuming my dad doesn’t know we’re engaged?” Jared asks.

“Nope,” Bryce says, then, happily, “And he talked to me and everything.”

“For real?” Jared says. “Actual words strung together in sentences?”

“I mean, it was about the game, but yeah,” Bryce says.

“Aww,” Jared says. “You’re bonding.”

“I hope so,” Bryce says. He looks pretty pleased with himself. It is annoyingly cute.

Jared was right: now that the adrenaline’s fading, his shoulder feels fucking awful. He goes to pop the Magic Bag in the microwave, which gets Bryce hovering immediately, looking concerned.

“You good?” Bryce says.

“Just sore,” Jared says. “Hopefully just that, at least.”

“That fucker Anglin in the second?” Bryce asks.

“That fucker Anglin in the second,” Jared confirms.

“Fuck that guy,” Bryce says. “Shoulder?”

“Yeah,” Jared says. 

“I’d offer to give you a massage, but I’d probably just hurt you worse,” Bryce says. What he does do is shuffle back and forth from the kitchen when the Magic Bag goes cold, alternately returning with an ice pack or a re-warmed bag, refusing to let Jared go anywhere but the couch. After an hour of alternating, Jared’s shoulder isn’t as bad, and all traces of adrenaline have left the building, just leaving him with a bone deep exhaustion. He’s pretty sure he falls asleep within thirty seconds of hitting the mattress that night, sleeps a ludicrous amount that night, the next night, but even so he feels gritty with exhaustion when they’re piling onto the bus to Medicine Hat, sleeps the whole three hour trip and still doesn’t feel right when they pile off.

It doesn’t get any easier from there, for Jared’s body or for the team. Medicine Hat takes both of their home games, which — Jared has maybe gotten a little cocky with the ease of the first two rounds, because heading back to Calgary tied in the series rattles him. Rattles all of them, and they go down two in the first of Game Five, but after an absolutely blistering speech from Coach during first intermission, they rally pretty admirably, if Jared can say so himself, score three in the first ten minutes and ride that high to an eventual 4-2 win and a 3-2 lead in the series.

They head back to Medicine Hat buoyant with the win and determined to take it there. Jared’s sure he’s not the only one who’d like to take it more for a break than anything — the Americans wrapped the Western Conference Finals up in five, so there isn’t going to be any lazing around, waiting to find out who they’re playing. They take it in Medicine Hat, or they head home with their heads hanging and every part of their body sore. Jared’s not sure where he’ll scrape up the energy for the Finals, but he’ll find it when they make it. 

And it is _when_ , because they do take it. OT again, after a much closer game than any of them would have liked. Jared’s on the ice for it — Jared’s the primary assist — and Gregory jumping on him hurts like crazy, the pile of Hitmen hurts even worse, but it doesn’t matter, because they’re going to the Finals.

Jared is getting a little sick of having to pile onto a bus instead of celebrating at home, but like — he can’t actually complain about that, probably. Better to be piling onto the happiest bus of all time than driving home as a loser, and way better than losing in front of a crowd of people who were rooting for you.

Of course, of _course_ the Finals are against the sole team in the league they don’t have home-ice advantage on. It’s probably pretty rare to see the number one and two teams play each other in the Finals, rarer than anyone would think. Jared would have rather played literally any other team, for obvious reasons, but that’s the one thing that’s out of their hands, so instead he watches every single Americans playoff game he can when he gets home, the most stressful marathon of all time, trying to see where the cracks are. It’s not goaltending. Their goalie is a brick wall, was the best in the league in the regular season by a fair margin, best in the playoffs by a bigger one. D’s solid. They’ve got good goal support too. Still, they’re not infallible. No one’s infallible. 

Jared wants the Chynoweth. Jared wants the Mem. If this is his final year with the Hitmen — and it probably is, considering he’s been playing well and the Oilers don’t have a whole lot of depth right now, so next stop is likely Edmonton or Bakersfield — he wants to close it out right. He’s _going_ to close it out right. Jared’s never believed in that mind over matter shit, but they can make it happen. He can make it happen.

“You’ve got this,” Bryce says before Jared heads out for the long bus ride to Kennewick, hand on his cheek like it’s for emphasis, looking him straight in the eye. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Jared says, meaning it. “I’ve got this.”


End file.
